Caricature Romance
by xanthofile
Summary: [slash] The relationship they have is not quite what one should call 'normal'. It's not 'normal' to need humiliation and bondage to prove yourself but if you can look beyond that, then maybe so can they. [one shot] PWNL indefinite timeline.


this one is dedicated to **FallenShateiel**, for convincing me that this should be written, and 'soon'. look, i actually meant it when i said soon!

forgive me as well, for being so blatantly...emotional and cloying. but i rather enjoy this for that very reason. hope you do as well, or at least get some enjoyment from it. yes, some **sado/masochistic** tendencies mentioned in this fic, hope that doesn't bother you either. but no worries if it does, as i'm not one for writing it very well in the first place, as it mostly makes me quesy. lol

_Sunday, 2 July, 2006. 9:32 pm. _

* * *

Awakened from a light sleep by a rough catch in my own breathing, jerking even as something stretched across my chest and caused an automatic reaction of my back arcing against the restraint. My hands tugged, testing the fact that I was already unable to pull free. Unbidden, a small grin played at the corners of my thin lips, my eyes fluttering at the cloth already covering them as well; damn, he's getting even better at this. Pressure found the softness beneath my chin, cutting my breath short as I became stony, having never encountered this aspect before; the pressure increased just slightly, causing me to suck in a sharp gasp, the slim nostrils of my nose flaring. But as that tendril of fear wove through me, another, more dankly arousing, response sparked down my spine, ending within my groin. Sweat cropped up along my temples as I felt that familiar growth, my entire body rigid even as that part of my anatomy involuntarily ticked with my heartbeat, the tip of the knife under my chin exciting me to full velocity.

My face tilted back when the pressure increased, and his soft lilting voice came then, "You like this." I swallowed, the chalky want of his mouth on mine taking me by surprise, just from the sound of his voice.

My lips moved, and the blade nicked me, drawing blood even as he whispered, "What was that you were saying?"

"Nev…." I barely dared to say it, but I heard him move closer, felt the very air around me become charged with his signature aura.

"I'm listening."

"Kiss me…?"

My cheeks flushed at his answering chuckle, feeling him pull away and remove the blade from my chin only to replace it flat-side down against my lower lip.

"You know I don't do that, not when you're like this. I never will, Percy."

My cheeks grew even warmer at the blatant humiliation, and for the first time, I wasn't fueled by it, didn't derive pleasure from his refusal. The blade withdrew from pinching the flesh of my lip against my teeth, retreating into the air above me as the whispers of his clothes gave away movements…then that blade was against the edge of my belly button, pressing against the taut ring of muscle even as I fought the twitch that threatened to erupt.

"I could slice you right here, you know. And, do forgive me, but I'm curious as to what you would do if I did. Would it turn you on, make you even harder than you are now? I don't understand anything, but I'd like to. I'd like to know what you find within this, all of it."

True, I was hard and already leaking, my body betraying me at the thought of him severing the lip of my navel, of spilling my blood in these circumstances. We've never done that, I've never asked him to do it, because I know what blood does to him. I know what _this_ does to him, and yet I have always asked it of him. Because I'm so bloody _selfish_. The black material over my eyes caught the bit of moisture that leaked out unheeded, unseen by him as the blade moved away from my skin and then there was a sudden puff of moisture at my groin instead. No, it's not what I want anymore, and I jerked when his fingers closed around my erection, familiar even as they slid upwards and wracked me with pleasure.

"No…." My voice cracked as I attempted to twist away, but his fingers remained firm; I've said this before, I always say it. He's learned to ignore it, my pleading. A panic settled down over my brain with a choking haze, my limbs jerking at my restraints as I called out another 'no', hating the manic note in my own voice.

He ignored me, didn't even hesitate once as he settled his lips around my erection, and unbidden, my safe word wrenched from my throat even as I arced into the searing pleasure, "¡**Parada**!"

Immediately, our situation changed, as I heard him squeak and rush to cup my face within his palms, fingers fumbling away the blindfold so that I could see again. So that my blank tears became visible to him, his voice shaking and thin as he stammered my name, small kisses of comfort to my cheeks to make me stop crying. It's never this way, he's never the one to comfort me…it's usually the other way around, with me holding him as he cries out his discomfort of tying me up to bring me off, of forcing me into this submissive humiliation.

And maybe because I'm still in this position, still restrained but knowing that it's not going to go any further; I've lost whatever shred of self-control I had had as I voiced, "I needed you to kiss me. Just once would be enough, Neville, _please_…."

He pulled back a bit and began working at the ties around my wrists, fingers digging into my skin as he fumbled with his haste; I arced against him and gave a low moan, sighing out, "_Please_…!"

Giving up with a faint cry, he slumped down onto my chest, repeating, "I can't kiss you when you're like this, I _can't_."

I was twisting, nearly dislodging him, my throat tight. "Make me say it. Neville, make me…."

"What?"

I stilled as his hands found my face, his words brushing over my skin as my eyes opened to see his dark brown ones, that squarish face just above mine with my pointy chin and features; what would I give to reach up and touch him?

"Make me tell you why. So that you can understand." My voice was gravelly in the air of the bedroom, the one we've shared for nearly two years now.

It was an accident, wasn't meant to happen this way, to us. One of those chance crossings, where you see someone after a few years and they look different to you, like someone else. And your eyes catch and there's recognition blinking back at you; next thing you know, you're talking. Talking leads to laughter. His laughter always makes me feel funny inside. Maybe it's why, maybe I **know** why. It was still too fast for me to control, too much for me to bear at the snapshot view of him up-close and personal, his eyes slits even as he gave in to my kisses. Flashes, here and there, of lust and surprise and compatibility. Of pricking fingers while helping to pull out slivers of glass from a mistaken fall, of shagging on the lavatory floor at four in the morning, the john causing us to bend around it but we hadn't cared at the time. Of uncomfortable silences following a snappish argument, where Neville can hold his ground far longer than I can, despite my experience with uncomfortable silences.

"Tell me then."

I was silent, and he frowned, irritation flickering across his face as he easily slipped into the dominant role again. "Tell me!"

My mouth thinned but I didn't speak, not until he pressed that cold metal tip against my side, where it could easily slide in between my ribs…he knows how it should be done, after all. Neville…things change people you know. They changed me.

"Tell me…."

His eyes were swirling with conflicting emotions, but I felt calm as I stated, "I trust you, Neville. You are the only one I would trust, I feel no fear even as you stab at me."

Said instrument fell away, confusion wrinkling his forehead. "You were afraid before."

"Yes, but not of you. You would never hurt me."

"I could if I wanted to! You always tell me to, even though I never like it."

"I know. I trust you."

"So what." He was scared and sullen, looking away from me, and I shifted within my restraints, drawing his eyes back to me.

"I _trust_ you. No matter how far you go in this, I will always trust you. I do this…because I want you to see it, to know." My voice was rough from speaking lowly, as if someone might be standing just outside the door, waiting for this personal confession. I've never been good with my words, worse even than he is about what I want. What I want him to hear.

But he's gone still, unseeing of my face even though he's looking right into my eyes; his own are unfocused and far away, and some part of me wants him to stop doing that and _see_ me again. And gradually, he became more focused, looking down at me, staring at my dull blue eyes, the tightly curled auburn strands masquerading as hair on my head, those sharp features of mine that I mentioned earlier.

"I'm losing feeling in my wrists."

There was no hesitation, none of his awkwardness as he ignored my words, lips falling against my own in a heated kiss. I had no choice but to react, my eyelids trembling until I pressed them shut, applying more pressure against his lips and tongue, my body becoming limp elsewhere. Except that portion of my anatomy that had been affected since he woke me from sleep, the portion that was straining upwards with every beat of my heart, demanding to be paid some attention. And while I was distracted…my hands became lighter…I paused long enough to test pulling them in close, surprised when I met no resistance other than a deadness from lack of circulation. But I felt it when his fingers curled against mine, shifting his weight against me even as he deepened our kiss.

When we had to breath, he didn't move far, just brushing my mouth with his exhalation, and I took the moment to murmur something that has been on my mind often, what I can never get out.

But he smiled against my words, huskily returning them to me, "Love you, too."

--- --- ---

Would a happy couple measure love in how far they can bend their partner's will?

Would a content couple laugh at having to bandage yet another accidental cut when going too far?

Would a normal couple have separate personas when visiting friends or limited family members, presenting a separate face to different people?

Would they have to censure themselves when asked about a new bruise or strange rope burn around a pale-skinned and bony wrist; if we were with anyone else, would we be in love?

Maybe.

But we're here, together, and this is the way we exist.

This is the way we fell in love.

* * *

A/N: i rather liked playing with these characters. and parada is spanish for stop, by the way. i figured that percy would know enough to choose it for a safe word. 


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